


Focused On Death

by Nicxan



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Gen, Guilt, Haunting, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24628264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicxan/pseuds/Nicxan
Summary: Cardinal Copia struggles with his guilt over what happened to the Emeritus brothers. His lack of sleep only amplifies it.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	Focused On Death

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to Fauchart [tumblr] for letting me write this! I based this on [this haunting, lovely piece of art](https://fauchart.tumblr.com/post/182582115944/we-focus-on-your-death-we-focus-on-your-death-you) that they did! Thanks again! 
> 
> And thanks to sorinshuto [tumblr] for looking this over before I put it up. Much appreciated. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Copia couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten a good night’s sleep.   
  
He was able to fake it well, of course. Every slip of the tongue was just attributed to his awkward nature and every slight stumble just meant that he had terrible coordination. It happened to the best -- and no one suspected much of anything. It was just his awkwardness.   
  
That’s all it was.   
  
It wasn’t because he tossed and turned in bed every night, guilt gnawing away at his very soul. It wasn’t because he couldn’t get to sleep until the late hours of the morning, only able to shut his eyes when the morning sun peeked over the horizon. No, it was just because he was goofy. Goofy, harmless, and lovable.   
  
Nightmares didn’t play a part either. No, Copia never had those. At least, not that people knew of. If he had his way, he’d make sure no one ever _knew_ of those. He couldn’t show any weakness to the clergy; he’d just have to suffer in silence.   
  
Tonight didn’t seem like it would be one of those nights, though. If anything, it’d be the first good sleep he had in so long. Copia was so happy when he started to get tired at a reasonable hour, and felt a dim sense of glee as his body relaxed under the soft sheets. It had been a long time since he was able to sleep early -- he was ready for some proper rest.   
  
He ignored the dim red glow at the foot of his bed. That wasn’t there -- it was just a trick of the eyes, the dark trying to torment him. Copia knew better than to fear the dark. Nothing in there could hurt him; he was sure of that. He had learned that lesson a long time ago.  
  
All Copia had to do was focus on falling asleep. He just needed to listen to his soft, steady breathing, feel the soft silken sheets beneath him, find solace in the crickets chirping outside. All peaceful, natural things -- things that soothed and comforted him.   
  
_We focus on your death_  
  
Copia squeezed his eyes shut and tried to tune out the haunting, familiar line. Sometimes minds wandered. That’s okay. He had focused on songwriting a lot today, so of course some inspirations would come to mind. Right? This didn’t mean anything.   
  
It never meant anything.  
  
 _We focus on your death_   
  
It was louder this time and impossible to ignore. A surge of fear shot through Copia. His eyes opened involuntarily, then he shot up. His grip on the sheets were tight, white-knuckled -- terrified.  
  
The sight before him made him pale.  
  
Three spectres stood at the edge of his bed. Each of them were immediately recognizable in their eerie skull paint and the glowing left eyes. They loomed over him, glaring at him, snarling in pure, unrestrained anger. The grucifix shone proudly behind them, casting Copia’s room in that eerie blood red glow that he knew so well.   
  
The white eyes’ glows pierced through the darkness, boring into Copia’s very soul.   
  
Copia tried to open his mouth to let out a terrified scream, but found that he could barely even whimper. He tried to move his hands, to throw the sheets off so he could flee, but he stayed as still as a stone. He couldn’t escape.   
  
There _was_ no escape from what he had allowed to happen.  
  
 _You share not the blood of ours ours ours ..._  
  
The spectres of the Emeritus brothers descended upon him, bony hands reaching towards Copia’s helpless form. They grasped him tightly and pushed him back down against his bed, trapping him beneath them. The vestments of the spectres brushed against Copia’s skin -- they were cold. So cold. He shivered violently.  
  
They didn’t scratch him up. They didn’t harm him. No, that would be too easy. Instead, they made him face the consequences of his actions. Copia had to look at the people he had allowed to die. Papa I held his head in a way that he couldn’t look away from any of them. Any attempts to twist away were only met with an angry snarl and a firmer hold.  
  
The angry spirit of Papa Emeritus II hovered over him, his lone eye meeting Copia’s own. Copia stared back in horror, tense as ever and trembling beneath him. The glow of Papa’s eye grew stronger and stronger, becoming all-encompassing and nigh overwhelming. Copia struggled beneath the brothers’ grasps, but the boney fingers only held him tighter.   
  
_... thus we focus on your death_  
  
He could feel the anger. He could feel the righteous rage, the seething, burning malice in that gaze. It cut him deep to his own bone -- they had been murdered. Murdered! And here he was, feeling fear due to spirits that couldn’t even hurt him.   
  
But, Lucifer, he couldn’t face it. He didn’t _want_ to face it. He shut his eyes as tightly as he could, praying to Lucifer himself for the spectres to be banished. He prayed for relief, for His light to wash away the eyes’ glow, anything -- everything.   
  
Copia shot up out of bed, gasping for air, shaking like a leaf.   
  
They were gone. The room was as dark as it should be, and the moon still hung low in the sky. That was the only light that was there.   
  
It was all right. Everything was all right. So why was Copia close to crying? Why did he still tremble? It was just a nightmare, wasn’t it? All it was was just guilt over what happened to the brothers. All it had been was a manifestation of his crushing guilt.   
  
It had to be.   
  
He held his head in his hands and bowed forward. Despite taking deep breaths, he couldn’t stop shaking. The sight of Papa II hovering over him, the brothers holding him down and -- and --   
  
Copia let out a quiet, pathetic sob. He hunched over, praying that no one could hear him cry.  
  
Sleep wouldn’t come tonight.


End file.
